


(in)Sincerely, Jared Kleinman

by nameless_wanderer



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Epistolary, Gen, I am very sorry, au where evan dies, but hes gonna be fine guys, discussion of suicide and mental illness, god i enjoy hurting jared so much, jared is gay and deeply in denial about it, lots of angst tho, not a romance tho, not terribly descriptive sex dreams, sloppy and poorly described make outs, with a somewhat happy end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 16:56:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21341593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameless_wanderer/pseuds/nameless_wanderer
Summary: Jared's therapist assigns him a letter writing exercise in an attempt to get him to open up a bit more. Things don't go quite as planned when classmate Evan Hansen dies. But they were just family friends, so Jared is totally fine. Right?
Relationships: Evan Hansen/Jared Kleinman, Jared Kleinman/Zoe Murphy
Comments: 11
Kudos: 82





	(in)Sincerely, Jared Kleinman

Dear Evan Hansen,

My therapist is making me write letters. A sort of chronicle of how I’m doing. They were supposed to be to myself but I told her fuck that, I’m not writing to myself like a complete lunatic. She suggested addressing them as if to a friend. I don’t usually write my friends letters tho, so you’re the prime candidate for writing to, especially since I haven’t seen you all summer.

I’m heading off to camp in a week or so. Finally gonna see my real friends, feels like its been so long. No offense or anything, but like, you know we’re not like really friends. Just like I’m not really writing this for you to see ughhhhhhhhhhhh.

Fine, feelings. I’m excited. I miss my friends and I never get to see them. I feel like camp is the only time I can like actually be myself, you know. I’m happy to not be in school, I’m frustrated to still be in therapy for no goddamn reason. And I’m kinda fed up with this letter. That’s all I got for now.

Sincerely,

That guy from school, Jared Kleinman

* * *

Dear Evan Hansen,

So my mom asked me to continue writing letters while I was away so fuck it, I’ll do this real quick tonight. Still addressing it to you since my real friends are here and writing a letter to them would be super fucking weird.

I was so happy to see them, and they were pretty happy to see me. It’s been a year and it feels like so much has changed. It’s taking us a while to get into the rhythm of being in the same place, but we’re gonna be around each other for like a long time. We’ll get back into it again, I’m sure.

I’m super optimistic. Turning over a new leaf (kinda). Whatever. You’re never gonna read this anyway.

Sincerely,

The Insanely Cool Jared Kleinman

* * *

Dear Evan Hansen,

Optimism didn’t work out, so fuck that. It’s definitely a sign of the endtimes that I’m writing this letter voluntarily. God help us all.

It turns out my friends are giant assholes. Okay, that’s not entirely fair. Some of them are asshats, some are douches, some are douchecanoes, some are motherfuckers, and all of them are cunts. I can’t even describe what the hell is going on. It’s not like that much has changed from last year. They’re all just being dicks in a way that I suddenly can’t stand. And suddenly some of them hate each other but I’m supposed to like all of them while still being on their side. I don’t get it. I’m playing along, smiling and laughing, but they’re just saying things that straight up aren’t funny. And I hate pretending they are.

Literally the only fun I’ve had was playing capture the flag. Most of my friends aren’t in my bunk, so I got to wreck them in a way that still felt like we were keeping this unsteady peace. What the fuck happened?

See at least with you (the real you that is) I know exactly where we stand. Our relationship is simply our families are friendly, therefore we’re family friends. Here, it’s like I’m supposed to be friends with these people but it’s more like the alliances between European countries just before world war one. And I’m fucking Serbia, caught right in the middle of it all. Let’s hope none of them are planning to assassinate an archduke.

Sincerely,

Your family friend Jared Kleinman

* * *

Dear Evan Hansen,

Okay so camp was a lot rougher than I was expecting. But I got through it at least. Kept uneasy peace with everybody. Did some things with that girl that led to that thing that I will never speak of again in my life. I survived.

What does that mean for me? That I felt surviving camp was an accomplishment. That place used to feel like home, I felt like I could be myself. But I wasn’t myself at all the entire time I was there. What the fuck happened? That was home, or it was supposed to be, and now it’s not. And my house isn’t home, so what the fuck is home for me?

I sent the real you a text the moment I got service driving back. I know you took physics last year and I know you have notes. You haven’t texted me back tho, asshole. It’s been hours. It doesn’t take you this long usually. Where the fuck are you?

What the fuck is happening to me?

Sincerely,

The increasingly frustrated Jared Kleinman

* * *

Dear Evan Hansen,

We just heard from Heidi today. Or my mom heard and I heard from her. You’re in the hospital. It’s not looking good. I guess you had a good reason for not responding to my text yesterday. I didn’t come with my mom to see you today. I don’t know why.

You fell from a tree, right? That’s about all I can tell, because nobody will tell me fucking anything. But my mom is remaining positive and optimistic. I know I said fuck optimism, but like can you just fucking wake up from this so it’ll stop freaking everyone out? You’re gonna be okay, so just fucking be okay already. God.

And now I’m berating a kid in a coma. Great.

Sincerely,

The asshole known as Jared Kleinman

* * *

Dear Evan Hansen,

We’re back to my therapist forcing me to do this. Great. I suppose I should catch you up.

You died last week. You know this, I know this, my therapist knows this. And I’m doing fine. You’re an asshole for not waking up, but that’s not exactly your fault. Mostly I just feel numb. I mean, I feel bad because my mom feels bad, but I wonder if she just feels bad because Heidi feels bad. She’s been very clingy with me lately.

I’m fine. And I told my therapist this. She says she thinks I’m withdrawing, and not exploring my pain. But I’m really fine. It’s not like we were friends really. Mostly I think I feel bad because I’m not feeling as bad as I should? Like I said I don’t feel sad. I’m just numb. But that’s how I always feel at the start of school.

It sucks that you died (which I guess is a weird understatement) but like, it was an accident. And it sucks but there wasn’t much to be done about that. Could be me. Well, I wouldn’t fall from a tree like some acorn. But like at any moment I could just get in a car crash or something and be gone.

Weird to think about. I don’t think I like that feeling. I’m gonna stop thinking.

Sincerely,

The uncomfortably numb Jared Kleinman

* * *

Dear Evan Hansen,

My friends are assholes. And so am I. Which is why we’re not friends as of today. I told them about what happened to you. And they fucking laughed about it all. And when I called them out on it they fucking tried to tell me to lighten up. I told them all to go fuck themselves. And then I left the group chat.

I’ve decided very recently that I’m not a good person. I don’t think this makes me any better. Just makes me not as big a jerk as I could be.

They announced your death at school a few days ago. People are looking at me but not saying anything. I fucking hate it. I haven’t gotten a good night of sleep since the summer so I’m tired and bitter all the time. And no one talks to me they just look at me like… I don’t know. I don’t like it. So I give them a look back. Cementing the fact that I’m an asshole.

I’m still fine, by the way. I’m empty and numb still, but fine.

Sincerely,

The Newly Friendless Jared Kleinman

* * *

Dear Evan Hansen,

Connor Murphy. They looked at me like I was Connor Murphy. And now he’s gone too. Passed out from pills in the park. He was unhappy. His death somewhat preventable. My therapist wants me to write about his death too, but I’m not liking this constant thinking of death. I didn’t really know him, you know? We were in the same class a number of years. But mostly I just knew him as Zoe Murphy’s brother since you liked her.

I saw her in the hallway. It’s hard to say what’s going on in her head. I was going to say something to her, but one look and I knew she wouldn’t like me saying it. It’s like… I don’t know, it’s not that she doesn’t miss him but there’s a complication to it. Denial at it? Anger at him? I don’t know. What bothers me is people have no problem talking to her but they just kinda look at me.

Why does that bother me so much????? I’m fine. I’m fine, and it sucks you’re gone, and I haven’t had any real human connection in weeks, but that’s my life anyway.

Right, I’m supposed to write about the last time I interacted with Connor. But I don’t remember, I don’t see him a lot.

Wait, no. It was the first day of school. He bumped into me. Everybody turned and stared at us and it seemed like he was about to shout, but then he saw who I was. And he looked at me. Not like everyone else was looking at me though. Or, _is_ looking at me, I suppose. The point is… he looked at me differently. When he realized it was me, and I hardly noticed until later. Did he know?

Did he know what Jared? Real fucking specific. God I wish I had someone to bounce these thoughts off of. But nobody’s waiting for me. Only the ghosts of loners past. Does that make me the ghost of loners present? The fuck would that even mean? I need to sleep.

Sincerely,

Ghost Whisperer Jared Kleinman

* * *

Dear Evan Hansen,

Somebody finally asked me about you today. Alana Beck. Remember her? I think she’s gunning to be valedictorian or something. Involved in way too many clubs. Yeah she talked to me. Said she was compiling a memorial for you and Connor. She asked if I had anything of yours. I told her to fuck off.

The look she gave me was… god, I don’t know. It wasn’t a weird combination of fear and pity. Well, maybe it was a look of pity, but it was more… sympathy? Empathy? Compassion? Okay wait let’s see if I can remember the difference between these basically-synonyms.

Sympathy is feeling some way because someone is feeling bad. Empathy is feeling some way because somebody else is feeling that way. Compassion is caring for other people and how they feel. And pity is a garbage emotion that I don’t care to have forced upon me.

Is that right? Fuck if I know. This is why I’m supposed to be taking English. I’m taking film crit this semester. Remember how I tried to convince you to do that? We coulda had it made, Hansen. Watching movies and shitting on them for a grade. Coulda been so fun. But you signed up for AP Lit, I went to camp and…

Alana asked me about you today. And she tried to be sympathetic when I said no. It’s almost like she cares. At least more than the others. That’s what I wanted to tell you. And that I’m fine.

Sincerely,

Aspiring Film Critic Jared Kleinman

* * *

Dear Evan Hansen,

I talked to Zoe Murphy today. You spent an entire semester thinking and planning on how to talk to her and you chickened out, and I lucked into it. That’s a form of irony, right? Not situational but maybe dramatic?

I ate lunch in the library because fuck everybody in the cafeteria who stares at me. In the library, nobody has time to look at you. It’s coffee, caffeine, studying, and stress there. I sat at one of the tables, the only empty one, and began quietly eating while fucking around on my phone. I didn’t even see her approach the table. I did hear her frustrated sigh as she asked if she could sit. I shrugged and said sure, not really paying attention. Eventually I looked up and it was Zoe.

So I was like “you’re Zoe,” and she sighed and was like “yeah,” probably expecting some speech or something about Connor, or an “I’m so sorry for you” or even worse some platitude about how things happen for a reason. But I merely nodded and went back to my phone. But she got weirdly offended, like, “that’s it?” And I was like “yeah, pretty much” and kept eating. She glared at me, so I finally looked back at her and was like “look, you don’t have to like me, but I’m here for the same reason as you.” She looked like she had something to say about that so I said “nearly the same reason.” And she looked at me weirdly and I sighed and said, quote, “Evan Hansen was my… I’m the closest thing he had to a friend.” And she went “oh,” and we ate lunch silently, sharing blank glances that somehow said so much more than any of the pity stares I’d gotten.

Evan Hansen was my what exactly? Friend? Not exactly true. Acquaintance doesn’t begin to cover it, and let’s be honest, family friend is a stupid term. Every other night since you’ve been gone we’ve visited Heidi to make sure she’s alright.

Heidi’s not alright, by the way. She outlived her only son, how could she be alright? And I can’t blame you for that in any way, but you have to know how much it sucks. How much she’s hurting.

I wonder if Connor’s mom is hurting the same way. I know Zoe isn’t, and I can’t help but wonder why. I’m eating lunch in the library again tomorrow. I get the feeling that Zoe is, too.

Sincerely,

The Insatiably Curious Jared Kleinman.

P.S. I almost forgot to tell you I’m fine. But I am. Still.

* * *

Dear Evan Hansen,

Wow. Time passes. I didn’t have a letter to show my therapist last week. I don’t know if you’re still, like, around or how ghosts or heaven or wherever/whatever the fuck you are works, but I’d better just catch you up.

Zoe and Alana are… kinda almost my friends now. It’s very weird. After the whole library lunch with Zoe thing started, Alana found us and forced her way to our table. We eat lunch there every day now. Alana does most of the talking. Sometimes she does annoyingly focus on you and Connor at times, but mostly she realizes we really don’t want to talk about it, and she talks about whatever’s going on in her life. She’s weirdly good at making us smile for just a second. I find myself gravitating towards where they’re sitting in the few classes I share with them. It’s nice. It’s unfamiliar. It’s a little scary. It’s mostly nice.

I’m still fine. Some days I don’t feel empty and numb anymore. Mostly during lunch. Alana and Zoe just have a way of taking my mind off shit. You know? And last night, I slept all through the night. It’s been a while since that happened.

I want to clarify, I’m not sure that they’re my friends yet. We’ve only been hanging out for a week and a half maybe, the three of us? Zoe and I a bit longer. It’s a weird dynamic, to be sure, but it feels pretty stable. Maybe I’m overthinking it, but something changed. I know it. Or maybe I’m being optimistic again after denouncing optimism. Who knows?

Sincerely,

The semi-well rested Jared Kleinman

* * *

Dear Evan Hansen,

I ate dinner at Zoe’s house. Yeah, plot twist right? Fuckin’ M. Night Shayamalan up in here. I’m not sure what Zoe was thinking by asking us to come over. I guess she didn’t want to have to be alone with her parents. Clearly they’re processing Connor’s death very differently.

Larry is a bit cold. I think he’s more like Zoe only… worse? It’s like he doesn’t want to acknowledge Connor is dead or wants to pretend he never existed. With Zoe I can at least tell she’s processed that, but Larry doesn’t seem capable of processing that. Cynthia is more like Heidi, though. I wonder if they would get along. She’s looking for anything to hold on to Connor. She asked me and Alana if we had any memories of him. I was honest and said what little I had didn’t paint him in a flattering light. Alana was a bit more magnanimous. She remembered he had been paired up with her for huck finn. She just stopped short of telling Cynthia he called it fuck finn. Somehow she made him seem clever for having done it though.

Alana is the weird part in all of this, I’ve realized. I can’t tell what her angle is. Besides a duty to her fellow students, why would she want to memorialize Connor and Evan? Why would she go to the trouble of actually trying to befriend me and Zoe for that? My only hint is that she and Cynthia shared the same look for a nanosecond when they talked. But I can’t tell what it means. Maybe she just cares about her classmates?

Somehow I ended up in Connor’s room. I think he like reading more than he let on. He didn’t have many books but the ones he had were well read. And annotated. Who fuck annotates books? For fun? Because these were not like high school reading list books, they were YA, Stephen King, all that edgy hipster stuff. Zoe was rightly like what the fuck are you doing when she saw me in there and I was like I have no fucking clue I haven’t even been in Evan’s room. Is that weird? I just can’t imagine seeing your room without you in it. And ever since I just can’t bring myself to see it. I wonder why.

She briefly mentioned Alana’s twitter campaign. I briefly mentioned how fucking great it is that there are more tweets for Connor than for you. And then she pointed out that people can rally around Connor’s death more than yours.

“Connor was very unhappy; people can rally around mental illness. They can’t rally around not falling from trees.” And what she said made sense, but something still feels off putting. There’s something really obvious that I’m missing. Maybe it’s the idea that Connor was unhappy? Mental illness, sure, I believe that. But he never seemed, like, sad. That’s not to say he seemed happy but… I don’t know. He didn’t seem unhappy.

What am I missing?

Sincerely,

Confused Bedroom Intruder Jared Kleinman,

* * *

Dear Evan the asshole,

Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you **it wasn’t a fucking accident was it you asshole** fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you **how could you do this to everyone** fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you **do you know what Heidi has fucking been through since you died** fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you **was it so bad that you wanted to die or did you just not want to feel alone anymore well newsflash asshole **<strike>now I’m all alone</strike> **you left us all alone** fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you **why’d you do it you selfish asshole** fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you **why did you kill yourself** fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you FUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCKKKKKKK YYYYYYYOOOOOOUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Go fuck yourself, Evan.

Your _closest friend_ Jared Kleinman. Fuck you.

It’s a few hours later. I realized I’m not done with this letter. I don’t know if I should tell you any of this, but I don’t think I’m fine anymore. The main thing was I realized what was bothering me in my last letter. It was that Connor died because he was unhappy in a way nobody could see and you didn’t. Because you did. I stormed over to Zoe’s place, barely comprehensible, and showed her what I’d written, ranting the whole time. I could barely see her through the tears. I broke down because I finally realized you weren’t happy, and that was at least partially my fault. My fault I didn’t see how unhappy you were. You never seemed sad. But you were mentally ill. Social anxiety disorder, right? God I’m a shitty friend. I broke down crying right in front of Zoe. She didn’t judge me or laugh or anything. She let me cry and she held me. I don’t know if I should tell you this. Because she held me while I was crying.

And she tasted like vanilla chapstick and wintergreen.

Sincerely,

The Incredibly Guilty Jared Kleinman.

* * *

<strike>Dear Evan,</strike>

<strike>Evan,</strike>

<strike>why do we start letters with “dear” anyway you’re not dear you’re dead</strike>

<strike>Dead Evan,</strike>

I’m gonna be real with you Evan, things have gotten weird and I have no clue how the fuck to begin this letter.

Alana started, like, a project. A memorial? I dunno. Ostensibly it has nothing to do with you or Connor but it’s also kind of entirely about you and Connor? She calls it “Lost and Found” and it’s a clever idea but it feels only half formed. Basically, people can write in about you or Connor or just about their own stress and basically understand that they’re not alone in feeling “lost” and that one day they will be “found.” Only problem is we’re not like professional counselors or anything so lets hope we figure out what the fuck to do with submissions before we get more than like seven total letters.

We still hang out in the library. We go over to the Murphy’s house for dinner. We act like everything is normal, and it is. Except sometimes after dinner Zoe and I suck each others faces for a bit. It’s always wintergreen.

Now, wintergreen is a very similar taste to mint, and they have somewhat similar chemical compositions, but theyre not the same thing, and if you know what to look for you can easily tell the difference. Or know what to taste for. I don’t know. They’re different yet similar.

We’re not dating, to be clear. We don’t hold hands, we don’t cuddle, we don’t go on dates, we just… hang out at lunch, and eat dinner. And sometimes make out. We’re just… friends with benefits… that… don’t have sex. Look, I don’t know if I even like Zoe and I can’t really tell if she likes me. But I feel… less alone when we do it. Does that make me a terrible person? I feel like it might, like I’m using her to feel good about myself. But if she’s doing the same to me maybe it cancels out? None of this feels right. I can’t figure it out but nothing seems okay anymore. And I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.

Let’s talk about Heidi. Your mother. Is it weird that I call her Heidi? I don’t know what to call the mother of my dead best friend but I’ve always called her Heidi so Heidi is probably right. Anyways I indirectly introduced Heidi and Cynthia. I told Cynthia about Evan and how I knew Heidi and she asked for Heidi’s number so I gave it to her. I think they’ve talked a few times now. I think it’s probably good that they have someone to talk to who knows what they’re going through. Even having Zoe has helped me better understand what I’m going through.

Except thats a fucking lie because we’re not going through the same thing at all, she lost her fucking brother and I lost a kid I used to bully. And we don’t even talk about you or Connor. We don’t even talk. I’ve mentioned you maybe three times total to Zoe. We just spend a lot of time together not talking and then once in a while we make out to ease the void in our souls. Or at least that’s what I’m doing. I’m not really sure what Zoe is doing. I can’t tell if I’m fine anymore. <strike>I’m fine.</strike> I’m probably fine. It’s hard to say.

<strike>Sincerely,</strike> <strike>Sarcastically,</strike> <strike>Sardonically,</strike>

Whatever, you know it’s Jared writing this.

* * *

Dear Evan Hansen,

Not much going on. But I’m in the habit of writing to you and it’s a hard one to break. Still hanging out with Alana and Zoe. Still tasting wintergreen. Heidi and Cynthia have become friends, but I don’t think she likes Larry all that much. Can’t blame her there.

Okay here’s an interesting development actually. Your (former) therapist offered to help with Lost and Found, you know, Alana’s thing. Alana decided we should actually answer them. We’re getting a fairly small amount, but that means we’re able to get through them all. Zoe tackles ones focused on conflicted feelings and imposter syndrome in artistic fields, I focus on general school problems and aggression, and Alana covers depression, anxiety, stress, and especially academic pressure. She clearly has a lot more problems than I initially thought. Point is we realized some of the ones we were getting couldn’t be answered without professional help, and Heidi offered to make the connection. I think Dr. Sherman feels worse about your death than anyone would think. I get it.

You know, I read somewhere that therapists often have to go to therapy just to deal with the kinds of things they hear. I wonder how someone stumbles onto the job of being a therapist’s therapist. Maybe I should find out.

I did ask Zoe why one time in the middle of making out. I asked why we were doing it. She was like “I don’t know. Because it’s fun and we couldn’t stand doing this with anyone else?” Good to know she doesn’t know either. I don’t know if either of us is fine, and I’m starting to suspect Alana isn’t either. So the circle of fineness or lack thereof grows.

Sincerely,

Eventual Meta-Therapist Jared Kleinman

* * *

Dear Evan, The Cock-Blocking ghost,

I broke up with Zoe. “Broke up.” I don’t know, we weren’t together really. We were making out. And things were fine, but something was different. She wanted to go further. She tried to take off my shirt. But I told her we couldn’t keep doing it. And she looked more disappointed than I thought she would. I think she was starting to form an attachment. She asked why. And I told her the truth. Because I don’t know if I’m doing this because I like her or because I like not being alone, or, worst of all, because you liked her and I’m just doing this to vicariously fulfill your dream posthumously. Naturally that was all a little too much to handle and she told me she would need some time to process. I eat lunch in my car now so she can process and Alana asks me where I am and I just shrug and say I’m busy. What the fuck is wrong with me? How fucked up is it that it’s possible the only reason I’m “with” Zoe is because you wanted to be with her? What the fuck?

I don’t taste wintergreen anymore. I taste vodka. And vodka is my friend now. Because I’m fucking fine.

Sincerely,

The Soon to be Smashed Shmared Shmeinman

* * *

Oh god. Oh shit. Oh fuck. I thought I was done with this. I’m not showing this to therapist, to my parents, to anyone. Fuck, I’m just writing to get this out of my head. Nobody can know about this, Evan. Deal? You’re dead so fuck you you can’t break your end of the bargain.

I had a dream about what happened at camp. You know, the thing I swore to never tell anyone. It started back at summer camp, with that Israeli girl. We were making out on the bed, getting into it. I grabbed her boobs, and suddenly it was Zoe in her room. I got hotter and sloppier, and suddenly she put my hand over my pants and I said

And here’s the thing, obviously in real life Zoe is an entirely different person, and the Israeli girl is not her, but the way that our make out was interrupted (mine and the Israeli girl’s that is) was the same as what happened in the dream.

Except the dream kept going because that’s what dreams do. And I just don’t know how the fuck to explain this. Because this isn’t the first dream I’ve had about this. All I know is it’s happened several times in my dreams and once in real life.

I moaned your name, Evan. And suddenly it was you. In the dream. In real life the Isreali girl pushed me off the bed and you know what I probably deserved it but in the dream it was you and suddenly I wasn’t fondling Zoe’s breasts but I was touching your chest and god it felt so good. And we didn’t stop, and I took your shirt off, and you unzipped my pants and you kept going further, and though I protested getting naked, you took it all off and called me beautiful, and you kissed me lower and lower, until suddenly you weren’t just kissing me anymore, and in the middle of it I woke up.

And now I feel fucked up. Completely. I’m about to cry but I have a raging boner. Do you understand what that’s like, Evan? It’s fucking terrible and humiliating and the least my subconscious could’ve done for me was let me finish, but I’m awake and you’re dead and I was so close to being so so fine, but I’m not there anymore because it was a dream and you’re fucking dead and I’m dreaming about my dead best friend giving me a blowjob and god how fucking terrible must I be to do that. I’ve always known I was a terrible person but this is proof that I’m just absolute fucking garbage. Fuck, Evan, I miss you. I miss you so goddamn much. Why am I afraid to say that? I miss you. And I’m crying. And I’m still fucking hard what the fuck.

I know the solution. Alcohol. Alcohol is the solution to this problem. We never speak of this, but Alcohol could make me forget it. Alcohol.

You don’t get a proper end to this letter since I didn’t get a proper end to my dream. Fuck you. Figuratively but apparently literally too according to my subconscious. What the actual (actual) fuck.

* * *

Dear Evan,

So guess who got Zoe Murphy _and _Alana Beck to stay the night? That’s right, this douche. Buckle up, because it’s quite a tale, and like always, I’ve mislead you about what actually happened.

My parents had to go out of town this weekend. It’s their anniversary so they went to a bed and breakfast somewhere. So I was alone in the house with my good friend, alcohol. Lots of alcohol. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but somehow I ended up with a very sharp kitchen knife primed over my wrist. I dropped it, quickly collapsing on the floor. I crawled until I found my phone in the living room. I don’t know how I even got on the phone with Zoe, but I begged her to come over. Shaky breath, wavering voice, other unstable characteristics. I don’t know how much time passed before she got here, but Alana was with her. I explained what happened and basically asked them to stay up with me to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid. I don’t think they were thrilled but they agreed.

It was honestly the weirdest night of my life, and I don’t remember most of it. I remember Alana was originally going to take me to the hospital, but I told her I didn’t want to do that and Zoe backed me up, remembering Connor’s tales of how he was treated in the psych ward. Alana agreed not to call but told me I needed to see a therapist asap. My therapists office was closed so we agreed to wait until morning to call. Zoe insisted on watching Parks and Rec. Normally I’m more into the Office myself, but I was clearly in no state to argue. And honestly it’s a pretty good show.

We mostly watched tv and talked. It was almost nice except I was constantly worried if they took their eyes off of me I was going to kill myself. That’s not a fun feeling. The talking ranged from things we somehow didn’t know about each other, like favorite colors or music preference, to… well, you and Connor. We got into a big discussion about mental illness. Apparently Alana has anxiety too. Zoe seems to have some form of ADHD. Who knows what the fuck I have, but I’m clearly messed up, too. And of course, suicide was the heavy one. We skirted around it before diving right in.

Evan, did you kill yourself because you wanted to die? Or did you just want to not be in pain anymore? Or maybe you just wanted not to be lonely? I think that’s what it comes down to, wanting something or not wanting something. I’ll be honest, I’m not really sure which it is for me. I don’t know what scares me more, that I may never understand why you died or that I understand exactly why you did it. We came to the conclusion it depends on how much you can handle uncertainty in the face of a bitter truth. I’m not sure how well I do with either of those.

I threw up at least once. I drifted in and out of consciousness. It was about 3:40 in the morning when I woke up again. Alana was asleep on the couch, and I sat up from the floor. Zoe turned to me before looking back at the tv. I watched with her for a few moments. Then she asked why I thought I was going to kill myself. I tried to dodge it but she wouldn’t have it. And I had to admit the truth.

The realization that I might’ve been in love with my best friend and that my own cold demeanor towards him might have been in part what led him to kill himself was too much. I don’t know if I want to die because I think I deserve it or if I just want to not be in pain anymore. I don’t know if I want or want not. I apologized to Zoe for forcing her over, and she shrugged. I told her she’d never have to see me again if she wanted, and she sighed and said that wasn’t what she wanted. I think she just needs more time and more space. I can do that.

I just hate the idea that I just got friends again and I almost lost them because I kept kissing my dead best friend’s crush. And I made her come over when she has her own shit to deal with. Oh yeah, that’s the other thing, Zoe thinks her parents are like one argument away from a divorce. On top of her brother fucking dying and having her own complicated relationship with that. I’m such an asshole. I practically threatened to kill myself if she didn’t come over. Evan, how do I stop being so terrible?

The good news is it’s morning now, and I survived. But I’m definitely not fine. And I have a lot of explaining to do to my therapist.

Sincerely,

The Worst™, Jared Kleinman

* * *

Evan,

I’m not fine. This isn’t working. Writing to you isn’t helping me. It only hurts. I don’t want to hurt anymore.

Goodbye. For good.

Jared

* * *

Hey, Evan. It’s been a while. Let me catch you up.

I don’t know if you know how much time has passed from whatever afterlife you may experience, but if you didn’t know, it’s been about a year and a half from the last time I tried writing to you. I’m officially a high school graduate. Barely, but still. I’m taking a few courses at the community college, and I’m working at A La Mode. Do you remember that little ice cream shop? Did you ever go there? Apparently Zoe and Connor did when they were younger. She had the weirdest deja vu when she visited me for the first time out there.

I’m still friends with Zoe, amazingly. Alana, too. After a few weeks apart, Zoe was like “okay you’re being a dumb and self-isolating motherfucker, we miss you, come sit with us” and I was like “...okay.” I even got back in contact with a few friends from camp. I don’t feel alone anymore, and that’s a pretty awesome feeling. I wasn’t doing super well a few years ago. Not just because of your death, although that certainly didn’t help. With my camp friends, they were also going through stuff and maybe didn’t value the friendships that they had taken for granted. We made up and things are good again.

It bears repeating that the last time I wrote to you, I wasn’t doing well. Obviously not. I was in denial about a lot of shit, I hated who I was and how I acted, and I was deeply depressed. You dying brought all of that up to the surface and it boiled over very quickly and very dramatically. That’s why I stopped writing. I discussed it with my therapist and we decided that maybe I wasn’t using the letters for their intended purpose; I was using them to deny the reality that you were dead. And that wasn’t helping me truly move on from that catastrophe. It was preventing the proper grieving process. As was distracting myself by making out with Zoe. Not my proudest moment. So that’s why I stopped writing them.

Oh here’s a weird thing, when I last wrote to you, Lost and Found was just a small blog site project basically run solely by Alana. Now it’s a legit nonprofit dedicated to helping teenagers with mental illness navigate their lives and prevent suicide. Apparently your therapist has contacts, and there were a lot of people who believed in the cause. The project is still officially dedicated to you and Connor, but there are so many branches now that Alana eventually had to share the responsibility. She finally stepped down when she entered college. She still answers letters though, as do I, and so does Zoe, and so do a few dozen volunteers all across the country. We’re each trained in how to talk to teenagers, and we each have our own specialties. Min happens to be closeted kids and the feelings they have for their probably straight peers. Mostly I just redirect them to resources for queer people, but sometimes I get to write back to somebody and feel that I’ve made a difference. Honestly, I can’t describe that feeling properly, it’s incredible.

Um, I’m out now. I’m gay, to be clear. I was really, _really _repressing. But I’m not anymore. And I’m still getting the hang of it. I don’t think I have feelings for you anymore, which is a relief. But there’s this cute guy in my writing course that sits next to me. His name is Rich and he just exudes this charismatic confidence of somebody who could be a popular douche but is actually just the nicest person ever. I hate how much I blush whenever he talks to me. And he smiles at me and we hang out sometimes and I don’t know if he’s straight, but I’m pretty sure he knows I’m gay and that I like him and ughhhhhhhhhhhhh. Still, it’s better than having feelings for your dead best friend.

I still miss you, even though I don’t have feelings for you anymore. Some days are really hard as I just imagine what you would’ve been like at this point. What you would’ve done. What you would’ve been studying. I can’t help but imagine you gardening, planting trees for some climate change initiative. And then sometimes I forget you’re even gone, like there was ever a moment you were in my life. Those days are harder. But I take it one day at a time. And I’m getting through.

I visited Heidi a few weeks ago, just me. I talked to her a bit and we caught up with each other. I doubt you know this, Evan, but I always liked Heidi. She was easy to talk to. I told her about what had been going on in my life, and finally admitted that I may have been completely infatuated with you. She’s looking a lot better, but her sad smile still breaks my heart. Like it’ll never be complete again.

I asked if I could look at your old room, wondering if it still looked the same. That was the first time I stepped foot in your room since you died. It was surreal. It was the same, but different. It was still your room, but a nicer version of it. Your books on the bookshelf, but all of them neatly put away. All of your school stuff in the closet. Your bed perfectly made. It was hard to see. It’s still your room, but it’s somehow clear that you haven’t lived there for quite some time. Heidi says maybe someday she’ll do something with it, but she’s not sure. Apparently she’s thought a couple of times about becoming a foster parent, and I can’t tell if that’s commendable or heartbreaking. I think she needs more time before making a decision like that though. She told me to come back over any time. And maybe I will. I know from Zoe she and Cynthia still hang out all the time, so maybe we could all have dinner.

Oh, right, that was another thing. Cynthia and Larry had a rough time for a bit there, but they worked things out. They’re still together, though Zoe suspects they’ll separate shortly after she graduates. She seems detached when she says these kinds of things, as if they are inevitable rather than speculation. I worry about her sometimes. And I’m sure she worries about me. She’s my best friend, after all.

But I think she’s a little bit worried over nothing. Because for once, I truly, honestly, legitimately feel okay. I’m not always fine, but I am okay. Maybe I’ll start writing to you again. I don’t know if you’re actually reading, but writing this made me feel better, and somehow, I can’t help but feel that my intent got through to you. I miss you. But I’m okay.

Catch ya later,

Jared

**Author's Note:**

> Hey it's been a while, but I can't stay away from this fic fandom and I really cannot stop hurting Jared apparently. I've had this in the works for a few weeks and I probably could've taken more time with it, but I'm happy I'm getting it out now! I've still been writing, just not a lot of fanfic stuff, though I do have several fics in the middle of writing, in particular a few follow up fics to slam on the brake, my last big kleinsen fic. As always thank you so much for your kudos and comments, and feel free to come bother me on tumblr, my url is kennothythebard. Til next time!


End file.
